Art of Travel: Paris to Madrid

Day Seven

Monday morning’s view was heavily restricted as the surrounding landscape was shroud in a dense blanket of mist, rendering the mountain chain invisible. The lack of sunshine suited me since my legs were feeling a wee bit tender from sun burn (half an hour lying in the sun with factor eight cream on and still burned and my stomach had broken out in a rash). Anyway, I figured that the mist would have burnt off by mid-day but I was wrong since mid-day saw the mist turn to a fine drizzle, which reminded me of something I once overheard from an old woman at a Dublin bus stop say about similar weather: “Ah God, sure isn’t that rain awful wet”. Which is not as daft as it might at first sound because it tricks you into thinking its harmless but still manages to soak every nook and cranny.

The lack of visibility did nothing to liven up the journey. The road was a busy “A” road with a very slight incline most of the way, and since the mountain had vanished in the mist I could just as well have been travelling out along the Sealand road from Chester to Deeside. My bum was really hurting today. Perhaps because I stayed in the saddle for most of the 100km ride since there were no difficult climbs.

I was relieved to have arrived at Foix since on the outskirts of St. Lizier by the D117 the front wheel spokes began emitting random pinging noises, rapidly becoming more frequent. I concluded that the extra load on the front was finally taking its toll on them, loosening them and consequently causing a detrimental effect on the wheel’s tension. I couldn’t figure out why they had waited until 150km since the adjustments were made at Lourdes to start voicing their objections? Perhaps the change in weather conditions was causing them to expand and contract? Unlikely! About ten minutes before entering the town the road inclined down steeply and continued to do so until passing the sign welcoming to Foix, giving me a satisfying long free-wheel end to the days ride, as the castle which seemed to dominate the town from the height of the opposite mountain-side came into view swept through with mist (once the mist had cleared the next day it became apparent that the castle was itself dwarfed by the peak backing it).

It struck me as rather ironic that once I had finally managed to get my act together by moving the camera from the bottom to the top of the pannier bag within easy reach the weather took a turn for the worse. Poignant since I would soon be leaving the Pyrenees behind. With regards taking photographs of places I have lived or visited I always seem to make the mistake of telling myself that I will do it later, there is always tomorrow! Perhaps I should embrace the present more often? Time has a habit of catching up on one leaving photographs untaken and places unvisited.

I eventually found the campsite which was located on the side of the town as you approach from Toulouse. It reminded me of the site I camped on when in Krakow in the early 90’s (well the entrance does at least). As with most sites I have visited on this trip this one was sparsely populated, which suited me just fine. I stumbled through my “Bon suir. Je voudrais camp une nuit, s’il vous plait” with a good humoured middle aged female receptionist.

My tent is about twenty yards from the river’s edge with just a low wire mesh fence and a narrow stretch of grass beyond standing between us. That evening, with a welcome rest bite from the wet weather, I prepared and ate dinner on a river-side picnic table to the sound of ducks calling and preening on the slow moving Ariege. I watched them drift in and out of focus through the five foot high wisps of mist hovering inches above the river surface, moving against its flow.

Once the tent was pitched I made my usual trip to stock up on enough food for the following day which wasn’t too difficult since I had passed a supermarket just five minutes or so from the site entrance. Even so, I took the now load free bike. Having bought the food, unlocked the bike, fixed the front wheel back onto the fork, and mounted the saddle I pushed off to the sound of several "pop" and "ping" sounds, followed by one almighty "PING". With that the wheel jammed, the rim falling hard against the brake block. I thought I heard the sound of a small piece of metal bouncing away from me. It became depressingly clear what had happened when I looked down at the hub and saw that the cap holding the ball bearings within the hub had come partially away, allowing about half the bearings to pop out.

I vaguely remembered what looked like a bicycle shop fly passed me on the way out of the town centre on route to the campsite earlier in the day, and so made my way to the shop on foot, dictionary in hand with the page translating “ball bearing” marked. After butchering a sentence where I think I asked for a new set of bearings to such an incomprehensible extent that I had to resort to gesticulating accompanied by neolitic grunting (well, almost). The important thing is that the shop assistant eventually got the picture and all was well. However I do think he ripped me off, having charged me £5 for a set of bearings and a smiggen of grease, but I was releived enough not to argue the point (not that I could in any case with my dire French)!

That night the heavens opened to the sound of thunder so, since the next day would more than likely be my final day in the Pyrenees I decided I would prefer it to be a day of clear vision. Therefore if it was still raining when I awoke I would stay in Foix for another night. It continued to rain solidly for about 36 hours, so I waited the rain out.

On the whole the weather has been disappointing. Day eight of my journey is drawing to a close and I have two and a bit days when it wasn’t raining, and here I am writing this in my tent at 20:30 by torch light because it is so overcast , the wind is blowing hard, I’m cold and it is about to start pouring down again any minute now. Roll on Spain! I was aware that mountain ranges experience climates damper than average but I hadn’t expected it to be quite as bad as this, after all it is the South of France in the middle of Summer!

 

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